Christine Daaé is Dead
by The Grasshopper
Summary: (COMPLETED!) So says the Paris Epoque.
1. Rose Thorns

Not many people attended Christine Daaé's funeral.   
  
It rained. There were whispers that it was proper for Angel tears to be shed on the day that one of their own was returned to the heavens. Christine Daaé was adored by those who knew her as their daughter, Prima Donna, and Raoul's fiancée. The coffin was luminous white and glowed in the soft light of dusk. The gentle rain created rivulets that flowed down the sides of the coffin in tiny, crystal waterfalls.   
  
White roses formed their small bouquets around and on the center of the deathbox. White against white. And at first glance, the scene would almost look like a wedding...if it were not for the people who were dressed in all black. Their heads were bowed solemnly, and their dark umbrellas formed a canopy over Christine's flowers, protecting them from the building storm. Soft weeping could be heard, but the ones who loved the Angel most had no tears in their eyes.   
  
Christine's Mama Valerius was near the front, and she refused to wear black. She held flowers in her hands, but there was a smile on her face and constant, ecstatic cries of, "She has returned to her Angel of Music now! He has taken her up to heaven to be with him! My little Christine is finally going to make music with the Angels as he taught her!"  
  
These cries were greeted with silence and a sympathetic acceptance that the woman must have gone mad with Christine's loss. Her voice finally faded as the priest began to speak...The imposing figure was enough to stop the weeping as well...and all were silent.   
  
Raoul de Chagny stood at the end of Christine's coffin. He did not have an umbrella, and the rain was already soaking him through to the skin. His face held a deathly pallor, and his eyes were empty with only a confused look in the blank recesses and the continuous, denying shock that he had yet to get over. Raoul's hands shook by his sides so violently that he finally clenched his fists to stop them. Everyone at the ceremony watched the Count with pity...while his sisters flanked him like protective hens and dabbed their eyes with fancy, lace handkerchiefs only because it was proper to do so.  
  
The priest spoke prayers and condolences in a dull monotone, and when he finally stopped, each person stepped forward to place a rose on the smooth, pure-white coffin.  
  
Red on white... Purity and love... Grace and beauty...   
  
It was Raoul's turn, and each of his sisters took an arm to support him, as gracious as they were. He did not set the rose on the coffin, but rather it fell from his fingers, and rolled away from the others...into the dirt hole below... His hand was a battlefield of cuts; he hadn't even realized that he'd clutched the rose that tightly in his fist.   
  
He held the rose so tightly...so tightly that he was cut by the thorns...  
  
The gravediggers began to lower the coffin into the ground on top of the rose.  
  
"No!!"  
  
Raoul's agonized cry startled both his sisters and the priest, and he sobbed as he wrenched away from them...in the most despairing, pitiful way. His hands trembled by his face as he cried, "Christine, Christine!! Oh, my God, my Christine! No, please..."   
  
As his sisters tried to bring him back, away from Christine, Raoul once more pulled away...and he threw himself on his beloved's coffin and clutched the roses as he sobbed like a child. His fingers curled in agony as he positioned himself exactly where Christine's head would rest on the satin pillow inside.   
  
Either in shock or out of mere respect, no one came forward to pull Raoul away now...even as he begged for them not to crush the rose he'd gotten for Christine, which had fallen underneath and rested below... He couldn't bear for them to crush the flower that he'd picked out for her, so flawless in its beauty and exactly as she had been. The petals were soft, not unlike her perfumed skin when he held her hand and kissed it--Oh so lightly!   
  
Lightning struck and Raoul's voice was more of a yell, as if he was calling up to heaven itself. "Christine...Christine...!"  
  
The rain was beginning to come down harder. The very few guests cast one last look at poor, broken Raoul de Chagny, and then they went on their way, trailing a pathway back to the main street. The priest took Mama Valerius away as well, and he listened silently as she began to speak of the Angel of Music once more...a name that made Raoul sob even more.   
  
After long moments Danielle, Raoul's older sister, finally tried to take his arm again...and her voice was as sweet as honey. "Raoul, dear...It's raining. You'll catch a cold in this weather...Come on, now..."   
  
His other sister Cecilia was not so patient. "And it's freezing, on top of that. We do have to bury her eventually, Raoul..."  
  
Their little brother made no sound in response, but his hands were still tight around the roses on the coffin...and he refused to move.   
  
As the second priest approached and began to speak to Raoul in low whispers, the sisters moved away to talk amongst themselves.   
  
"He's heartbroken, Cecilia... This is such a horrible tragedy!" Danielle took her handkerchief to dab at her eyes again. They were real tears this time, but not for the dead maiden.   
  
Cecilia sniffed and pulled the hems of her dress closer to her. It was far too muddy to allow anything to drag, even funeral clothing. "We have already gone through one funeral. And at least his poor Christine was not murdered as Philippe was. I don't understand why Raoul is so upset; she didn't breathe a word the moment she stepped foot in our estate! It was improper enough to have her stay with us... despite Raoul's claim that she'd been traumatized. I can't imagine a situation more traumatic than when we learned of our dear Philippe."   
  
"And the ring! Don't forget the ring, Cecilia." Danielle was not mean by nature, but she and Cecilia had both been miffed when Raoul announced his engagement.   
  
"I remember the ring perfectly well. It was a disgrace...to wear another man's ring while she was engaged to a Chagny!"  
  
"It very well could have been a ring that Raoul gave her."  
  
A scowl crossed Cecilia's beautiful face, and she shook her head. "Raoul would never give such a plain ring. Besides..." His sister glanced back to make sure that Raoul was still preoccupied by the priest. "She wore Raoul's around her neck. I saw it."  
  
"Let us hope that no one else did, then." Danielle was not paying so much attention to her sister anymore; however, she was instead watching the receding line of guests. "So few people came...and we're the only ones here now."   
  
But they weren't. 


	2. Fallen Angel

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews!!! Umm..okay. Christine Persephone, I did not post this story anywhere before now. I wrote it a long time ago, but this is the first time that I've shared it with anyone. I haven't even written the ending yet... So I think that it's a different story that you're thinking of. =) This story isn't going to be very long, it's almost done actually. I hope that you guys like the ending. Heheheee...  
  
~*~   
  
Four days before her funeral, Christine had been on her way to the Opera.  
  
In the days that followed her escape from Erik, the man she believed to be and even still thought of as her Angel, Christine had felt odd and out of place. There was no abrupt change that she had felt or become aware of... No, it wasn't like that.... It was more of a gradual shift of mind...as well as the slow acceptance of her heart's true, pure desire. Weeks went by, and all of her time, she spent with Raoul in his estate... He never ceased to amaze her with his loving kindness and forever-patient nature... His sisters did not echo this mindset, but Christine neither blamed nor resented them for their cool aloofness or for the fire in their eyes. Most of the time, she hardly even noticed their poorly concealed haughtiness. They spoke to her in a way that was far too concerned and tender to be sincere compassion. But no...the young girl did not see it...And whenever she did, she convinced herself that it was her imagination...for Christine was not a defiant girl by nature, and anyone's blunt hatred would hurt her gentle soul...or what was left of it. She would, however, meet each of the sisters' gazes with her own, which was filled with shame and apology. Her protests to remain with her Mama Valerius fell on deaf ears. Raoul was determined to keep her well, and that meant taking care of her. In the course of his arguments, Christine had realized that it would be kinder if she didn't allow Mama Valerius to see what had become of her... It was best to let her believe what would make the dying woman happiest. Deeply inside and subconsciously, Christine was afraid of returning...  
  
Other then the feelings of uncertainty and doubt, there was only an emptiness that grew with each passing day and the coming of spring. Christine had left a part of herself behind, with Erik... She wasn't sure how or what part...and it left her eyes dull, lifeless, and separated from her emotions to form their own entity. Raoul could look at her and believe that she was perfectly blissful...and all the while, she could feel miserable inside. There never before had been a time when Christine found herself capable of hiding what she felt, and this new talent unnerved her greatly. She wanted to be whole again, and she had believed in the beginning that Raoul would be the one to save her.  
  
But Raoul hadn't... He tried, and his attempts broke her heart when she could only answer him half-heartedly and when she did not feel like going on evening walks to the park even when he would ask her so sweetly... But how could she go to the Bois when she could hear Erik's voice in the back of her mind speak of how he wished for his wife to go out with him on Sundays? In the end, she always ended up telling Raoul no, and she told herself that it would be unfair to go with him while having only Erik on her mind. But...whatever Raoul wanted to do made her think of Erik... It came to the point of being ridiculous. She wished to be free of the hold that Erik still had over her, and at the same time, did not want to forget him completely...But it seemed entirely impossible to do! And in the meantime, she was hurting Raoul, which was something that she couldn't bear to do anymore...  
  
Then there had been her revelation.  
  
It didn't occur for nearly a month, and it was after Raoul had asked her to go to the park for the third and final time...  
  
"Christine..." Raoul's voice was so infinitely sad.  
  
In her eyes, there was a look so haunted that it frightened him. She heard the horror in his voice. Her white skin was pale and transparent, which made her bones visible underneath. Christine was always thin, but now she'd become frail...and she actually looked sickly. Her poor arms were like sticks, and her hands always held one another and were constantly squeezing to the point of nearly breaking her own small, delicate fingers.  
  
The young, confused Vicomte took her hands lightly and held them in his own. "My darling...tell me what's wrong..."  
  
The eyes that had once held so much life were downcast, sadly, and Christine's voice trembled with emotion. "I..." How could she even begin! Where was there to start? There were so many things that were not fair in the world...  
  
Why must they completely leave the Opera? Why couldn't she be happy in her decision while knowing that Erik would have wanted her to be happy? He would have been disappointed if he saw just how far she'd let herself slip into hopelessness...and into the idea and state of mind that she would never see her Angel again, if only in her dreams! Why must she focus only on what she had lost? Raoul would do anything for her...if only to ease her pain...  
  
Sleep used to be an escape...but even her dreams eluded her lately...they had all become nightmares...oppressive, dismal, and dark...Her mind created such fearful fantasies that she was unable to sleep at night, and the glassy look to her eyes showed as much.  
  
"Tell me what I can do."  
  
The wide blue eyes from his childhood rose to meet his, the longing in them so deep and sincere...  
  
Longing that was not for him...  
  
The voice did not sound like hers, and Christine was inclined to jump at the sound of it. Her weak hands tightened on his with momentary determination. "I have...I need...to go back to him..."  
  
Whether it was briefly, for a few days, or forever, Christine did not elaborate, and Raoul did not ask.  
  
He let her go with no questions and with the desperate optimism of someone who has already lost something and it was now far beyond his reach. She still wore his ring around her neck, and he read that as a good sign...even though there was another that remained on her wedding finger. Raoul hated that ring.  
  
Danielle and Cecilia were delighted that she'd returned to her " dear Mama Valerius." Their sarcastic cruelty used while speaking of the woman contrasted with Christine's quiet adoration. Raoul would have never tolerated it...if he'd actually been paying attention to the conversation at all. He left his sisters in their merry peals of laughter and went to Christine's room where he gathered the red scarf that she had left behind and strung the material through his fingers until the day grew dark...  
  
The blood would have frozen in his veins if he had known what had happened during the time when he stayed calmly in her room.  
  
In the early evening, Christine walked down the streets of Paris alone. She was quite used to it, and had softly refused Raoul's offer to actually walk her back himself. There was no reason to worry for her safety...She was sure of it.  
  
What surprised her the most was how Paris had not changed in the course of her distress. Christine was still very young, and it continued to fascinate her...how the world held still while people were suffering...people that were not simply she, but Erik as well. Oh, how she thought of Erik! The idea of returning frightened her; it nearly terrified her, but only because she was afraid of how he would react. She almost expected to be turned away angrily, or perhaps he would laugh and declare that he never wanted her and didn't want to see her...and that she was wasting her time... It had been so long that he could have even found someone else! Someone who was far more accepting of him...and someone who did not scream when he took off the mask...  
  
Christine's shame was unrelenting at the memory, and she paused in the center of the sidewalk and almost turned back. But something stopped her, and with more confidence, she went forward again. Things were different now...She would tell him so. She would say that his face no longer frightened her, and that she wished to know him again, for the first time really...and to spend time with him... She would tell him that she was lost without him, afraid, and that her life was intertwined with his still. How could she hope to break ties with him completely when he possessed a part of her? Returning to the darkness did not scare her now, not when she was dying slowly in the light...Even Raoul could see it...and she would forever love her childhood friend for allowing her to return and speak to the man who would have killed him. He was so understanding...Christine would always love Raoul...  
  
It did not confuse her that she felt a stronger connection with Erik. She knew why, in a way...but she needed to tell him before it became too late...And oh, why did Christine believe that time was running short?  
  
Her small boots clicked on the stones as she went faster. She held the key to Erik's home in her pocket; her small hand was wrapped around it possessively. Christine knew where to go...She only hoped that it was still open to her. She knew Erik's extraordinary ability to make doors disappear and then reappear again...  
  
She couldn't wait to see him...The simple excitement made her eyes glow with a happiness that she hadn't felt in weeks, and her heart picked up its pace as the magnificent columns of the Paris Opera came into view. Christine could picture how he would look...the billowing black cloak and the slightly angled hat...worn so that it hid part of his face but still showed the white mask... She could remember him perfectly and in every glorious detail. He was so powerful... and one look from his loving gaze would fix everything, including her horrible, turbulent confusion and despair. Once she saw him, everything would be fine again...Christine would have her Angel, and she would finally be complete in a way that she hadn't been since before her father died.  
  
Disregarded newspapers fluttered absently by the Rue Scribe entrance as she approached it. One fell across her foot, blew flat against her legs from the wind, and refused to dislodge. Christine picked it up with every intention of setting it aside, but something caught her eye.  
  
In all of her years, Christine had never read the obituaries. It was rare that she even read the newspaper...and when she did, it was in a form of nostalgia...Her father would always give her old sections of his newspapers to look at while they traveled inside of train cars for long hours...And he would always oblige his young daughter if she suddenly wanted to see the section that he was busy reading.  
  
Christine's gaze only flitted over unfamiliar names briefly before she started to fold the paper again.  
  
And stopped.  
  
At the very bottom, in small, black letters, was the shortest obituary that the Paris Epoque had ever printed:  
  
"Erik is dead." 


	3. Erik, I choose the Scorpion!

Author's Note:   
  
Thank you so much for all the reviews!! They really make my night... I wish I could tell you guys the answers to your questions without ruining the plot! Luckily this is the last chapter. Shandethe Sanders—your review baffled me for a moment, I wasn't sure who you believed to have died of a broken heart until I saw that you were speaking of Erik. No one in my story dies of a broken heart...I'm not sure what gave you that impression, but trust me =). At the end of the first chapter, it gives a small hint on who is alive...sort of. You'll see! ...Aww...this makes me so sad...this is the last chapter...  
  
~*~  
  
Somehow, through the remnants of her alarm and despair, Christine had reached Erik's home by way of the Rue Scribe. The paper was clutched in one hand, the key still in the other, and both shook vilently. Christine's face shone white, and tear streaks sparkled on her cheeks like tiny crystals... Her sobs were silent, but they wracked her frail body with a force far beyond what seemed capable. She wasn't aware of her own descent into the cellars, but before long, she had opened the door and stood inside Erik's elegant front room, which had been destroyed beyond the point of recognition. The tapestries were pulled down, shredded...The piano was a mass of splintered wood...the keys overturned and lost among the shards...and the strings were snapped and bent into obscure, odd angles... twisted into shapes...looming out of shadows... Nothing was lit but for the small lantern that Christine had brought with her and held in the same hand as the paper...and it was barely enough for her to see a few feet's worth of distance.   
  
But she didn't want to see... The shattered piano was painful enough.   
  
In a desperate and feverish hope, Christine thought that Erik might still be alive. She called his name, weakly, but the sound of her voice echoing back to her only drove her poor mind further away from sanity. The sound was lost among the shadows, tossed back upon it, and returned warped and distorted. "Erik, Erik!"   
  
There was no answer.   
  
Christine searched all of the rooms...all except for his. She'd never liked Erik's room and was not allowed to enter. There was only one time where she'd seen the inside...The darkness and morbid design had frightened her, but the coffin had done more than just that... One glimpse of it had been enough for both of them, and Erik kept the doors closed to her after that day. Her horror had been so centered in on the coffin, however, that she'd failed to see what else was in his room...She hadn't seen the cages with the strange, foreign creatures that Erik kept...and if she'd gone into his room then, she would have noticed that the cages were smashed in the wake of the room's destruction, and the tiny creatures had vanished into the recesses of the house.   
  
The poor girl dropped by the fireplace, her shaking hand pushed the lantern away from her...and she curled up into a small ball. The cloak that she wore covered her form almost entirely, and she was lost among folds of fabric, sobbing until she could no more. Then she was simply silent, and had laid limp as she thought of all that was lost to her...  
  
She knew...She'd killed Erik...It was her fault that he was dead. He would still be alive now if she'd stayed with him...Oh, why couldn't she have accepted his bargain? She could have married him... If only to make him happy for a few months, at least; she would have been willing to sacrifice part of her life for that! If only she would have returned the day before...or the day before that...instead of waiting for the right time...Why had her mind played these tricks on her? Why would Fate choose for her to return one day too late? Oh, curse that day!   
  
After long moments, Christine had pushed herself from the floor and sat on the cool carpet, feeling disoriented and unsure of herself. How could she return to Raoul then, knowing that she would have stayed had Erik been alive? How could she look at him in his eyes and ask for his understanding?   
  
Near the fireplace, disregarded in the corner, she saw Erik's violin. It was mildly dusty, but Christine took it and held it in her lap for long moments with a reverence that brought tears to her eyes once more. She knew now, for sure, that he must be dead...Erik would never leave his violin behind otherwise...and to be dusty this way... No, never!   
  
...Fate links thee to me!  
  
Christine allowed her fingers to brush the soft wood of the instrument, down the strings and over the openings. She turned the violin over on her lap and embraced it once again, tighter... She hadn't noticed something drop from the thin holes of the violin onto her skirts and crawl to her hand.   
  
Forever and a day...  
  
Then she felt the sharp sting.   
  
The violin fell from her hands into her lap... The sting was unbearably painful! So much that her mind went momentarily blank, and so shocked was she that she didn't see the deadly, slender scorpion dart into the corner...   
  
Christine didn't know what had happened; it didn't even register that she'd been stung by anything. A spider bite was her first thought, but as she tried to call to Erik, her cry died in her throat as another wave of pain shocked her to silence...   
  
The small pinpoint of a mark swelled...The sleeve of her dress soon felt insufferably tight, and Christine's panicked breaths made her begin to gasp aloud. She curled up, frightened, and wondered why and how it could hurt so badly...and why Erik wasn't helping her. In her mind, she'd forgotten that Erik was dead, and she continued to call for him, her small whimpers lost among the dark, dark room.   
  
Minutes passed while she lied there, unable to move both from distress and pain. The swelling continued, and soon it had become exceedingly difficult for her to breathe... Christine nearly panted then, and every limb of her body began to tingle. Her spine curled more and more as she writhed with the desperate attempts for air and as black spots exploded in front of her eyes like fireworks... Her hands twitched repeatedly, out of her control, and Christine's eyes glazed over...so that the room was fuzzy... Shadows had come alive, and they reached for her...snarling, threatening...and Christine screamed...a scream that resounded only in her mind...   
  
Any movement became harder and harder to control...and in the brief moments left in which she could actually think clearly, Christine struggled to get up...to get somewhere... But she was only able to drag herself an inch or two away from the violin, which lied innocently on its side. Christine saw the door...so far away... With exhausted defeat, her hands fell limp as her throat closed completely. Helpless tears fell from her eyes, and she felt something dark and ominous finally descending...a black curtain...   
  
And...She was suddenly not afraid...   
  
No...She could hear the music in her mind; the violin was playing itself...She saw the shiny wood--it was no longer dusty!...and the hands playing it...Her father's hands, perhaps? No...They were Erik's hands...Erik, her angel...her angel had come to play for her from Heaven...He'd come so far, and for her! Only for her... Everything he did was always only for her...  
  
The dull thump of her heartbeat was far away...slowing...until her breaths were in time with the irregular pulses...and only moments before she had felt unconsciousness overtake her was she allowed to breathe...She had struggled to remain awake during those last moments... Christine resisted her closing eyes... All the muscles in her body had been paralyzed...The weight of her eyelids had grown too heavy, and she saw darkness...Heartbeats...throbbing...a bare, soft sound...tender...like ocean waves from long ago...a little boy, soaked to the very skin...and shivering...an innocent smile...   
  
The red scarf...  
  
Little Lotte let her mind wander...   
  
I love you, Christine...   
  
Erik.   
  
...Raoul.   
  
Her angel...   
  
The throbbing stopped. The ocean stilled forever. The poison had taken its course.   
  
Christine Daaé was dead.   
  
~*~  
  
It had been the last time that he planned on returning to the cellars.   
  
The deceased himself had submitted the obituary to the Paris Epoque, and Erik found it extremely amusing. He had his reasons...and he found them to be warranted. In the wake of his demise, Christine would marry the Vicomte de Chagny...and she would suffer no longer in the question of his untimely fate. It was what would seal her decision... and his "death" would push forward what needed to be done...before she was torn apart with guilt.   
  
Erik had been aware of Christine's state... The few times that he'd visited the de Chagny mansion, he had seen how badly she was suffering...because of him...and soon he had become aware that he would forever torment her until his death...   
  
So he'd had his death arranged.   
  
It had been necessary, and Christine would then be happy. Of course, he had known that she would mourn his death for a few weeks...but after her grief was over, she could start her life with Raoul at last and no longer have to feel divided in between two worlds.   
  
Not if one was dead.   
  
But legends never die, and the Phantom of the Opera was one of those that still lived, and always would...   
  
Before Erik had even entered his home, he had been aware that someone else had been there. His first thought was that it was Nadir, misguided as he was, and there was certainly no anticipation of seeing him again... Erik wasn't prepared for the endless questions.   
  
The first one, he'd imagined being something along the lines of why he'd submitted the fabricated obituary.   
  
What irritated Erik to no end was how Nadir never knew the answer to such obvious questions.   
  
When Erik did enter, he saw Christine on the floor. Alarmed, he set his cloak aside and went to her, speaking her name in a whisper that would not be answered.   
  
At first he had believed that she was asleep, but Erik had seen death often enough to know its stillness... In a single movement, he knelt and lifted her quickly, feeling for a pulse or even a slight chance that she might still be alive... As his mind raced with shock...he felt nothing...   
  
Numbed, he had clutched her to himself and rocked her in his arms, his fingers twisting in her hair. "No, no..." the whispers were too soft to be heard, and as his fingers trailed Christine's face, Erik no longer felt her warmth...She'd become as cold as he was now, trapped in his world; it had overtaken her, and had become her tomb... His hand trailed down to where her hand was, and he lifted it to see the sting...   
  
His embrace around his beloved tightened, and he continued to cradle her body and sing to her whisper-softly, his face buried in her hair as he cried ... The Angel of Music and Death cried tears for his Christine while drowning in his self hatred and his love... It was all for his own Angel...who lied so coldly in his arms. She was far from the reality that she had hated so much and part of a world where perhaps she always belonged... Sent to this place by he, Erik, Death himself!   
  
But he possessed her in death, the way he never had in life, and the thought tormented him...for Erik did not know why she'd returned, and he never would know.   
  
Christine did not pull back from his touch, nor would she ever again...Her head lolled against his arm, and he held it up gently...  
  
Erik did not kiss her; he knew that she would not want that...Instead, he kissed his hand and brushed it to her face, her lips, her cheeks...the kisses disconnected, but present...He traced her pale, translucent skin...as well as the soft tresses of her hair, pieces that were already becoming dull and lifeless...Only the finest shine remained. Her face was angelic, serene...and there was a peaceful smile on her lips that Erik did not understand.   
  
Hours passed and he felt her body grow stiff, but he did not let her go. He kept her pressed against him, his arms holding her in the desperate, foolish idea that if he remained just so... she would awaken...and he would welcome even her screams just for the sound of her voice.   
  
Erik did not stop singing once in those long hours...He did not even appear to breathe. It was far too easy to believe that he sang in order to her to keep her in this tranquil state...obliviousness...so trustingly and innocently... As it was the night when he'd first brought her down to his lair and she'd slept in his arms.   
  
His Christine...who had belonged to Erik in only those moments, while he would be hers for all eternity...  
  
~*~  
  
The next morning, Raoul had found Christine in her bed at the de Chagny estate.   
  
The entire house had searched for the scorpion that had been the cause of her death, but there was no trace of it.   
  
Raoul didn't want to consider that she could have actually returned to Erik, and so he believed the doctor's story without question...that she must have been bitten during the night by an insect hidden inside of the bed sheets. He told himself that Christine must have changed her mind on the way to the Opera and had returned...late into the evening, when he had already been asleep.   
  
What Raoul would never understand was that, in the end, Christine had chosen the scorpion, and had died with her judgment.   
  
The funeral was scheduled for two days after he'd found her. Erik had attended unseen to pay his last respects to Christine and to torture himself as well...and then, finally, his false obituary rang the truth. Erik was dead.   
  
There was no funeral for the dark Angel, but light and dark reunited in Heaven...and tears of joy fell like diamonds from the sky overcast with approaching storms.   
  
  
  
  
  
Fin.   
  
  
  
((::sniff:: All over! Keep in mind that I never say HOW Erik dies...that's up for you guys to decide. Personally, I lean towards suicide. What is left for Erik in this life without Christine, after all? I hope that you enjoyed it...my first finished work!)) 


End file.
